


Maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much

by bccalling



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 10, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22109347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bccalling/pseuds/bccalling
Summary: Fiona tries to help Ian set things straight. Post 10x08 fic.
Relationships: Fiona Gallagher & Ian Gallagher, Fiona Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 9
Kudos: 223





	Maybe we got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just posting this; I don't even care. It was supposed to be a 10x08 fix-it, but it fixes nothing. I think I it made it worse. Enjoy. But also, there's just pain ahead, so. Yeah.
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift's "All Too Well"

* * *

"Hey, sweetface," Fiona greets, and Ian hears the worry in her voice immediately. Figures one of his siblings must have called her after everything went down.

Ian finds himself sniffling a little just at hearing her voice, the tears welling in his eyes even as he tries to hold them back. "He left me," Ian murmurs the words, a choked sob forcing its way out before he's even finished speaking. It's the first time he's said it, and it fucking hurts. "And he should have. I don't fucking deserve him if I can't even give him this."

"Ian, Sweetheart," Fiona's voice is all sympathy, and Ian feels like he's closing in on himself, "Marriage is a big deal. You owe it to yourself and to him to make sure you really want it before you commit. I've fucked that up more times than I can count—I don't want you doin' the same thing," she insists before she takes a breath, and Ian can hear the thought before she even voices it, "But we both know you really fuckin' want to marry him."

"You're right. You are. It _is_ what I want, Fi. And I _should_ be ready. I _need_ to be ready. It fuckin' hurts him that I'm not," Ian insists, all false bravado as he tries to convince himself he _is_ ready.

Fiona knows better, though. "Does it hurt him that you're not, or does it hurt him that you asked and then didn't go through with it?"

Ian deflates a little at that—because she's right. They were happy, back before Ian ever proposed. Before he made Mickey doubt his words, his love. Before Ian broke them. "I _love_ him," Ian insists, and he means it, really and truly.

"I know you do, honey," Fiona assures, "and he loves you."

"Not sure he does anymore," Ian whispers, "or at least, it doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't want me. I hurt him too much this time, Fi."

"Oh, come the fuck off it, Ian," she scolds, and it's a little harsh, but probably what he needs. "That man is all fucking in for you. He has been since you were basically babies. He's come back to you, time and time again, Ian. He got himself _locked up_ to be with you. He'll come home. You just need to get your shit together and make some decisions."

"But what the fuck am I supposed to _do_ , Fi?!" He questions, and he's desperate. All he wants is Mickey back, but he's also really fucking afraid he's going to fuck it up again.

"You fuckin' _marry him_ , Ian," Fiona tells him, with all the confidence of the pushy big sister she is. It makes Ian smile a little. "Look, you're still young. Fine. Don't do it if you're not sure. But, Christ, Ian, you two have been through so much together. And you always come back to each other. I've seen you in love, Ian, and I've seen you with boyfriends, and let me tell you, honey, there has only ever been one man who lights up your entire fucking world. Mickey Milkovich is your ride or die. Go make him a fucking Gallagher."

"He won't even fuckin' _talk_ to me, Fiona," Ian protests.

"Then fuckin' _make_ him," Fiona argues. "Make some fuckin' grand gesture, Ian. Buy him a ring, get his name tattooed across your chest, fuck his goddamn brains out. What-the-fuck-ever. Just fuckin' _do_ it. And do it because you love him, not because you're trying to win him back. You need to go get your fuckin' man, Ian."

"And what if I fuck it up?" Ian asks, his voice suddenly wavering because he wants to marry Mickey, and he wants Mickey back desperately, but that doesn't change the fact that he's really fucking scared.

"Getting him back," Fiona questions, more gently this time, "or marriage?"

Ian cracks a little at that, his whole body tensing as he tries to articulate an answer. "Marriage," he finally whispers, "our relationship, our future. Everything, I guess. He loves me so much—if he marries me, he'll never leave, Fi, even if I deserve it."

"And what do you think you might do to deserve it?" Fiona asks softly, her tone soothing as Ian tries to grasp onto any tendrils of comfort he can find.

Ian considers for a second—he's never said any of this aloud, and it's hard; it's really fucking hard to go back there. "Cheat," he finally admits, and he chokes on the word because it's so fucking painful to even think, "run, fuckin' take him for granted."

"Everything you did when you were sick," Fiona's voice is soft. She's trying for comfort. It's not working.

"But that's the fucking problem," Ian insists, and his voice cracks with the pain he feels, "I'm still fuckin' sick, Fiona. I always will be. There's no getting out of this. And one day, I'm just going to hurt him again, and if we're fuckin' married, he won't have an out."

And Ian won't say it— _can't_ —but Fiona's never been one to let things go the easy way. "You're afraid you'll turn into Monica," she says it so matter-of-fact, like it hasn't been Ian's greatest fear his entire fucking life, and it's not even a question, just a statement that rocks Ian's entire fucking world because _yes_ — _of course_ it's what he's afraid of.

When he doesn't respond, just the ghost of a breath caught on his lips, Fiona continues, voice back to the soft reassurance she used to use when he'd faced nightmares as a child—and really, wasn't this just the very embodiment of Ian's nightmare? To one day turn into the mother he'd tried so hard to hate but couldn't help but love?

"Ian, you are not going to become Monica," she whispers the words, and he soaks them in and lets them begin to calm all the fears that still gnaw at the back of his mind, even if he doesn't really believe her. "You are _Ian_ , not Monica. I know I haven't always treated you that way, and I am sorry for that. But you're _not_ Monica. And more importantly, you are not going to _become_ Monica _because Mickey is not Frank_. Mickey loves _selflessly_. The way Frank loves is selfish. Monica spun out because Frank was a selfish ass who was too enamored with the idea of some grand fucking romantic adventure than he was with keeping Monica safe. Mickey, on the other hand, will always, always protect you and care for you. Just like he always has. Because Mickey knows who you are, on the meds and off. And he loves you. _Completely_."

"He _did_."

"He _does,_ " Fiona insists delicately. "Go buy him a ring, Ian. Tell him how much you love him, and then tell him why you're scared. But _marry him_. You both deserve your happy ending."

* * *

It's been days since he'd talked to Fiona. Days since he'd gone out and found a ring—just a simple gold band, one he thinks Mickey might even be willing to wear. Days since Ian had tracked Mickey down.

Days since Mickey had rejected him.

And Ian understands. He does. But he also fucking misses Mickey—wants him home and happy and loved.

But Ian thinks maybe it's really over. And it fucking _hurts_.

* * *

"Hey," Mickey murmurs from his place in the doorframe. He's watching Ian closely, his expression unreadable.

Ian gives him a sad, watery smile from where Ian lies motionless on the bed, and Ian thinks he sees Mickey take in a sharp breath at that, a touch of soft concern suddenly lining his features. "Hi," Ian whispers out, his voice quiet as he tries to fight the emotions that rush to his eyes. It's all he can force out as he tries not to cry anymore tears.

Mickey nods near imperceptibly, and then moves a little further into the room— _their room_ , Ian thinks darkly, as his mind deflates because it's not really even true anymore. 

"Fiona called me," Mickey admits quietly, standing at the foot of the bed where Ian's still sprawled, trying to avoid Mickey's gaze.

"Oh, yeah?" Ian asks, and he almost manages conversational with that. "What'd she say?"

"Said you're a dumb fuck, but you love me."

Ian can't help the harsh chuckle that bursts forth at that, a couple of tears fighting their way from the corners of his bloodshot eyes. "She's not wrong," Ian admits, and there might even be a hint of legitimate humor in his tone when he looks to Mickey. For his part, Mickey manages a soft smile. It's painted with a little bit of sadness, and Ian hurts so much at knowing he's the reason for Mickey's hurt. He takes a deep breath in, trying to fight back the tears that still threaten and breathes out on a whisper, " _I'm sorry_."

Mickey ignores the apology, but Ian notices the way his jaw tightens as he tries to reign in his own emotion—whether it's pain or hurt or rage, Ian's not sure. To cover, Mickey sits carefully on the end of the bed, reaching out with gentle fingers to run them carefully over the boot that covers Ian's broken foot. Ian can't help but thrill a little at the touch, even if he can't feel it. Mickey hasn't touched him since the courthouse. 

Even at the hospital, Mickey'd kept his distance, though Ian could see his desperation—the way he'd held himself back, just waiting for some invisible force to snap him back to Ian's side as he'd worried from a distant corner of the room, his anger and pain just barely holding him back. The only break in his armor had been the moment when the doctors had said Ian would be all right, and Mickey released a harsh breath in relief—near a sob—and Ian had seen him wipe as his eyes before Mickey had come up close to watch him, Ian so drugged up, he'd barely recognized the news. He remembers reaching out for Mickey, though, and Mickey letting Ian's fingers find his cheek, stoking gently for a moment until Mickey had circled his own fingers around Ian's wrist gently and turned his face just a bit to press a kiss against Ian's searching fingers. _Gonna go_ , Mickey had whispered on a shaky breath, his eyes wet with emotion. Ian had felt the tension in Mickey's gaze, his desire to stay there, with Ian. And Ian had wished so desperately it would win out. But even with all the pain meds, Ian knew that wasn't fair. So he'd nodded his head slowly, sad eyes trained on Mickey. _Your brother'll be here to pick you up real soon, Gallagher_ , Mickey had assured. But it hurt. _Gallagher_. _Gallagher_ meant the walls were up. _Gallagher_ meant Mickey was running. And Ian understood. But it hadn't hurt any less. Still, Ian had nodded, fingers still ghosting over Mickey's skin because Mickey hadn't pulled his hand away, and Ian was going to take anything he could get. _Love you_ , Ian had whispered. Truth. He wouldn't stop saying it because it was true. Always would be. Mickey had swallowed hard, and Ian had sworn he'd seen a tear fall. But then, Mickey had leaned over him and pressed a soft kiss into Ian's hair, whispered _I know_ , even though Ian didn't think he did, and then he'd gone, leaving Ian alone and cold and hurting. Ian doesn't think he'll ever shake that feeling if Mickey doesn't come back to him. But Ian also knows he doesn't deserve Mickey. Not really.

After a few more moments of silence, Mickey's fingers still painting patterns on the boot Ian wears, Mickey finally breaks. "How's your foot?" he asks carefully. It's a little safer, but Ian also knows Mickey's legitimately concerned. Because Mickey loves Ian— _he'd signed those goddamn papers, of course he loves Ian_. Ian knows it's his own love in question, and he hates himself for putting that question in Mickey's mind.

"'s okay," Ian slurs, trying hard to keep his voice from shaking, to maintain a normal conversation, even when all he wants to do is wrap himself around Mickey and never let go. 

Mickey nods at that, shoulders tight, as his fingers continue to drag over the material of the boot carefully. Ian wishes he could feel it. All he wants is to feel Mickey's touch again, to feel the gentle way it soothes and steadies and takes away all of Ian's fears. Ian doesn't dare move, though. Too afraid of breaking the trance that holds them.

A few more moments, and Mickey murmurs, "'m sorry," voice tight with regret. "Shouldn't've done that. Didn't mean to hurt you like this."

"I know," Ian promises. But Mickey's not done, so Ian quiets.

"I don't like who I am when I hurt you," Mickey confesses, voice strained and eyes a little damp. "I don't want to become my dad."

"You're _not_ ," Ian insists, reaching out for Mickey's hand. Mickey doesn't take it, just hangs his head. And it cuts deep as Ian finally let's his own fall back to the sheets that surround him, picking at the spots where the material pills. " _You're not,_ " he whispers again, voice full of equal parts promise and rejection. "Mick, I deserved it," Ian insists, all broken, self-deprecating pain.

" _No_ ," Mickey insists, voice harsh in its finality, "no, you didn't. You were a giant fucking dick, but you didn't deserve to be hurt like this."

"I hurt you first," Ian insists, his voice honest and matter-of-fact, and he can see the way it sparks anger in Mickey.

"It's not a fucking competition to win, Ian," Mickey insists then, "It is not okay that I hit you. It doesn't fucking matter if you hurt me first."

"Of course it does," Ian argues, voice a little soft, "I always fucking hurt you."

Mickey chokes out a harsh breath at that. Doesn't know what to say. It gets quiet, Mickey frozen in place as Ian watches him carefully from where he's still curled on his side in the bed, hugging himself against the pain he feels.

They stay silent for long moments, until Ian finally breaks.

"You should go back to him," Ian whispers, and it hurts, but he thinks he means it. Because Mickey deserves more. And maybe this guy—Byron? whatever the fuck his name is—could be good for Mickey. He treats Mickey well. Seems like he's probably a good guy. "He's better for you than me."

"Oh, fuck you," Mickey scoffs, voice all bitter irritation, "stop with the fucking self-deprecating bullshit."

And Ian hears that for what it is, and he's quiet. Mickey's right—that's not entirely fair, and Ian shouldn't be playing on Mickey's emotions. Ian just nods a little, accepting the criticism, but curling in on himself just a little more.

A beat, and then Mickey speaks, half anger, half pain. "Why the fuck you sayin' this shit anyway?" Mickey questions, the bite in his words not lost on Ian. 

"Because I hurt you," Ian explains, like it's the most obvious answer in the world, but Mickey's not buying it.

"Oh, _fuck_ you," Mickey's voice has a little waver to it now, like he's unsure, and Ian's not sure what that means, "Like this is the first fuckin' time you've hurt me."

"It's not," Ian admits, soft and quiet, wishing he could just reach out for Mickey. "I know it's not. And if you stay, it won't be the last. So you should go. Be happy with someone who won't hurt you every fucking time you turn around. Go be with someone who can love you like you deserve."

And Mickey's fucking _angry_ at that, tension tightening his shoulders and the set of his jaw. "Fuck you, Gallagher," Mickey spits, fingers gripping too tight against Ian's leg, where they still rest. "The problem with your little plan to get rid of me is that I don't fuckin' love him. _I love you_. And I'm a dumb fuck for it."

For a moment, Mickey looks like he's about to leave, and Ian can't stand the thought, so he reaches out, but Mickey snatches his hand away—doesn't move it far, just a little jerk out of Ian's reach, and that's enough to have Ian freezing in his attempt and letting his hand fall away from Mickey. "I love you, too," Ian promises, and it doesn't matter if Mickey believes him; he just needs to say it.

Mickey lets out a harsh little laugh at that, and Ian can see the sheen of tears in Mickey's eyes. "Then why the fuck didn't you wanna marry me?!"

"I did!" Ian insists, and he means it fiercely. " _I do_."

"Then why the _fuck_ didn't you _sign_?!" Mickey challenges, all angry bravado as his cold gaze pins Ian in place.

There's a moment of silence, Mickey's words echoing in Ian's head, and Ian's not sure how to answer, but he knows he has to—knows he owns Mickey an explanation.

"I'm scared," Ian finally whispers on a choked sob, pushing out a shuttering breath as he avoids Mickey's eyes. "I'm scared of hurting you, but now I already have, and I'm so fucking sorry. I never want to hurt you."

"Ian—"

" _I love you, Mickey,_ " Ian insists, so quietly, timid as he murmurs out the words, "I love you, and so much of me really truly wants to marry you—to be with you for the rest of my life—because I fucking love you so much it hurts. But I'm scared. I'm scared that I'm gonna have another break and I'm gonna fall back into old patterns and cheat or run or what-the-fuck-ever, and I can't hurt you like that. Not again. I'm not the person you should want to legally tie yourself to, Mickey. I'm a fucking burden. _To everyone_. And I know you don't feel that yet, but you will. One day, I'm going to fuck up and it's gonna fucking break us and you'll hate me. You'll hate me because you love me so fucking much, and because I can never be worthy of the way you love me. Because _I am fucking broken_ , Mickey. And all I'm going to do if I sign those goddamn papers is drag you right down with me. _I don't wanna break you, Mickey_."

When he finishes speaking, Ian's falling apart, hot tears tracking down his face. And he wants to reach for Mickey, but he doesn't—too afraid of the rejection he knows awaits.

Mickey doesn't know what to say to that, a thousand words caught in his mind as he desperately searches for the right ones. But he doesn't find them. So instead, he allows his fingers to trace up to Ian's hip, and when all the tension seems to leave Ian's body at that, Mickey's need to comfort the man he loves outweighs any desire to keep his distance. So, as Ian hides his tears against the pillow he rests against, Mickey carefully crawls up the bed. Wraps himself delicately around Ian. Intertwines their fingers where they rest against Ian skin and fits himself along Ian's back, nuzzling into Ian's neck. Ian lets out a soft sigh at that, body immediately relaxing back against Mickey's.

" _Mick_ ," Ian chokes out, voice still wavering with hurt and fear and love, and Mickey gives Ian's fingers a little squeeze in reassurance.

"Shh," Mickey murmurs gently, pressing a soft kiss to Ian's shoulder, "rest, Ian. I'll be here when you wake up."

The promise is enough to soften Ian, every last bit of tension leaving him as he soaks in Mickey's touch and allows himself to drift into a peaceful sleep.

* * *


End file.
